It was 9:30 p.m. And after the emotionally draining events of this
week, I decided that JK and I needed some treats. So I threw on a hoodie and my Asics and embarked on Operation Buy-What-You-Want-Because-It'll-Make-You-Feel-Better at my local Tesco. I was on a mission. I walked directly to the beer fridge and pulled a four-pack of Corona, swung open the door to the Krispy Kreme display and helped myself to two glazed donuts. Then I marched over to the magazine aisle and threw a New Look in my basket. Upon checking out these items at the till, I busied myself rummaging in my bag for my wallet. The man scanned my beers. "Do you have a Tesco clubcard?" he asked. "Nope," I said, still rummaging. "Any petrol?" he asked, as this particular Tesco is also a gas station. "No, no petrol," I said, smiling and looking up. He looked at me for a second and continued to scan my items. Finally, he asked, "How old are you?" I knew it was coming. I said, "I'm 26, but if you'd like to check my I.D., that's absolutely fine." That's when the customer next to me perked up his ears and turned to assess me. Oh boy, here we go again. 'Please let it not be as cringe-worthy as my M&S
experience,' I thought. "You know," the man boomed, as he squinted at me. "You look about ... seventeen." Ok, that's slightly better than 13 or 12. "No," I said, smiling. "I look about twelve." He laughed. "That's good on you, love," he said, still laughing. "What -" I said. "That I'll look about 20 when I'm 40?" "No," he said. "It's good on you to say 'I look about twelve' when someone says you look seventeen. Ha ha ha!" And then he was gone. I lugged the Coronas home and looked at myself in the mirror. My bangs had blown to one side and my cheeks were rosy. The lack of the cat-eye liquid liner I usually pile on for work made me look significantly younger. In fact, I looked about twelve.
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